


Grumpy Beginnings

by horlockshelmes



Series: a collection of drabbles that i should probably proof-read [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drabble Collection, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Neighbours, One Shot, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Slow Burn, Tumblr Prompt, follow me on there please :), imagine, sherlock x reader - Freeform, this honestly has no real plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 06:17:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15479457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/horlockshelmes/pseuds/horlockshelmes
Summary: Prompt(s): My shower is broken and I need to use your en-suite / He was, unfortunately, handsome





	Grumpy Beginnings

This day had dragged on forever, you thought. You were exhausted, mentally and physically and in desperate need of a hot, hot shower. You’d stripped out of your work clothes in record time, scattering them on the bathroom floor and jumping into the shower before twisting the ‘hot’ knob of the two.

Expecting nothing less than to indulge in a relaxing cleanse that would tie the evening together, to your discontent, all that came was the spluttering of last-night’s, cold, leftover shower water and a drained hiss that escaped from your shower head at the lack of liquid in the pipes.

You sighed, before groaning and looking down at your half-wet state to try and rack your frazzled brain for a solution.

You didn’t doubt for a second that John from above would mind letting you use his bathroom, and you knew it would be a while before Mrs Hudson realised her mistake and decided to reprimand herself to turn your water back on, so you’d wrapped a towel around you, stepped out of the shower and began to trudge up the stairs purposefully.

You knock on the glossy wood lightly, and stepped backward from the door, allowing it opening space. You wait a few seconds in the silence, and you notice the peculiar absence of footsteps, or any sign of 221B opening it’s door. It was a Thursday evening, therefore leaving no excuse for neither John nor the man he shared his flat with to be off out.

You raise your hand again, hesitate, and rap at the door a little louder, this time leaning toward the front-door to strain for any sound on the other side.

The man inside indeed waits for the second knock, and you suddenly hear thudding footsteps approaching the door from the opposite side of the flat.

The voice on the other side is orotund and begins to speak as the wood heartily thuds when the lock opens, 'For god’s sakes, John, i’ve told you to remember your-’

The man stops abruptly when his eyes settle on you and he fixes you with a stare. You were around half the size of him and wrapped in a white towel, dripping water on his welcoming mat.

He looks at the pooling liquid for a second and his expression is virtually unreadable. His eyes lock back onto yours.

'Can I help you?’ The man’s voice regains a modulated tone briskly, your mouth drops open, but before you can answer you realise how different Sherlock Holmes looks.  **He was, unfortunately, handsome.** Wearing a blue, knee length dressing gown over his usual slacks and dress shirt - a noteworthy ensemble, you think - and his hair is longer, and considerably more wet than before, informing you he had beat you to a shower.

'I think Mrs Hudson shut off my water again,’ you reply, quite suddenly, 'she seems to forget whether the switch turns off my water or her hallway lights.’

Sherlock looks upon you in further silence, with the expression that suggests he thinks your complaining, to him, is quite frankly unwarranted for, before tapping a hand on the dark wood and going to shut the door abruptly.

'Actually!’ you begin again, louder this time, and hoping he would listen, 'I was wondering if I could use yours.’

You see his shoulder’s rise and fall rhythmically in a heavy sigh behind the half closed door, before you lower your voice to its usual volume and begin speaking gently.

'I can see your hair’s wet, you know. I’m not an idiot.’ Sherlock’s gaze doesn’t falter on the wall beside the door, though he seems slightly taken aback by your forward attitude. His left arm extends as he opens the door again, and if he hadn’t spoken you would’ve thought that perhaps he’d been preparing to cuss you out.

'The door at the end of the hallway past the kitchen is my bedroom; inside, it’s the door to the left, you’ll have to use my en-suite, as John hasn’t cleaned our shared bathroom.’ Sherlock pauses, running his eyes over your moisture-slacken shoulders with such confidence it begins to grow to cockiness and suddenly you feel a warmth radiate to your cheeks.

'My sincere apologies for any inconvenience caused.’ He finally says, as insincerely as his husky tone would let him muster, before taking a large stride to the left to let you enter into the flat.

Once you’d awkwardly wobbled down the hall to his room (you could almost  _feel_ Sherlock’s burning glare etching itself into your bare back) you’d quickly entered the en-suite. It wasn’t vast in size, but comfortable to move around, it had the colour scheme of wet sand and black ink, and was fairly tidy, which had come as a pleasant surprise to you.

You didn’t spend a long time in the shower - you’d figured anything longer than 5 minutes would be rude, and anything shorter than 3 would become obvious that you’d been trying to save Sherlock’s water bill - after you’d finished you wrapped the towel around yourself again, and left the small, frosted window open to allow the steam to leave.

When you entered the main part of the flat you quickly saw Sherlock again. He stood in the kitchen with his back to you, stirring something and alternating from one foot to the next on the spot, all while humming to himself, something closely resembling words.

You stepped forward carefully, but when the floor beneath you creaked Sherlock snapped his neck in your direction, his actions quickly coming to a halt and his cheeks taking on a shade of pink you, unfortunately, failed to notice, as your gaze had fallen upon something else.

It was two mugs full of tea which Sherlock had been stirring, both being revealed over his shoulder when he turned to look at you. He noticed you were eyeing them. 

'I was making John and myself tea,’ he starts, looking back to the two mugs, then at you again, 'about to hand it to him, then I realised he went to Glasgow for the day.’ He took his own mug and proceeded to the living room, before giving you, and then the mug, a final glance.

You couldn’t help but let a smile melt onto your face when you realised what Sherlock was trying to imply. Absentmindedly, you walked forward into the kitchen, one hand on your chest, still holding the towel, and the other looping it’s way around the mug’s handle which had cooled upon having the tea made a while ago.

With the tea in hand, you plopped down into a chair opposite Sherlock, who cleared his throat and proceeded sitting in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, before you took a sip of the sweet tea, smiling as you realised the obvious.

John never took sugar in his tea, and Sherlock knew it.

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on my Tumblr! If you enjoyed this please go follow me on there, I post similar stuff :)


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